Tyrant
by Waggle
Summary: Power shifts have left Riften in chaos and ruled by a psychotic despot. The Legion has sent a ruthless assassin to resolve the issue, accompanied by a dishonored soldier serving as his guide. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. In-progress, will update as time allows.
1. The Coward

There came a voice from outside the prison cell. The guard was talking to himself, as he often did while making the rounds. Reaching the cell, he came to an abrupt halt and began belting orders to the man inside. The man was dressed in rags, his dark brown hair long and unkempt, as was his beard. He was very skinny, and looked malnourished. Clearly, this was of no concern to the guard.

"Canis! Wake up, you filthy maggot! Up! Now! Against the wall!"

The man in the stone cell swiftly and silently did as he was told.

"You know the drill. Latch 'em up."

The man put his back against the stone wall. Grabbing the iron cuffs which were attached by chain to the wall, he cuffed himself and made a motion to the guard to represent his immobility. The guard returned from whence he had come and for a few moments the cell was silent. Then the man chained to the wall heard footsteps approaching, and looked to the door. Standing outside was a man dressed not as a guard but rather as a noble. He was a tall, blonde Imperial, and his blue silk garments seemed to shine in the pale sunlight that crept through the high window at the back of the cell. Having been in this cell for some two years, the man in blue was a distinctive but not completely welcome sight. Most of the time someone was sent to his cell, it meant that the man now chained to the wall was due for a beating.

The guard returned and unlocked the door. As he held open the door for the man in blue, he reminded the new visitor to keep due distance from the prisoner. The man in blue nodded and dismissed the guard, who headed back up the steps. Now the cell contained only the noble and the prisoner.

The man in blue pulled the prisoner's chair from the corner of the room and sat down facing the man chained to the wall. He smiled at the prisoner in an almost-friendly way and then began.

"Canis Artoria?"

"That's me," answered the man chained to the wall.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Canis. I am Ignatius Varis. My job is to ensure the efficiency and wellbeing of the Empire by any means necessary. While I technically work as a Legionnaire, my occupation more often deals with small groups or lone operators rather than armies. You see, unlike your typical operations, my occupation deals more with precision than force. True, sometimes it is best to launch an assault and unleash the horde to wholesale slaughter the enemies of the Empire. More often, however, a bit of restraint can be just as effective, if not more so, and cheaper as well. Armies can destroy nations, but a single soldier can strike swiftly and quietly. More importantly, a swift, quiet man often returns from a mission where many legionnaires do not. We prefer to keep our men alive. Return on investment."

During all this, the man chained to the wall remained silent. Ignatius continued.

"Let's just get to the point. For the crime of desertion of your post, you face a life in this cell. You will never again see the daytime and you will die cold, alone, and forgotten: a fitting death for a coward. You will receive no funeral, and your name will be struck from the histories, like you were never here. Had anyone died under your command you would certainly have most certainly lost your head years ago, and no one would have so much as flinched at the sight.

"However, I come here not to comment on your sins but rather to offer you respite. At present you face a coward's death and an unmarked grave. While I could not hope to offer a coward like you glory or honor, I can offer you freedom."

The prisoner was silent, but his face betrayed his thoughts. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes that had been absent for some years. The man in blue seemed to notice.

"I see you are considering the proposal. The job is simple. As you know, there has been considerable political strife in the provinces of late, most recently in Skyrim. Even with the war effectively won, peace continues to elude us. But that is the job of the soldier. I need precision. This is where you come in.

"A man named Sibbi Black-Briar has effectively taken control of the settlement of Riften. After his mother and brother were assassinated, he took the throne. We believe that he had his own family cut down as a means of taking power. He is ruling as despot, and he needs to be stopped."

For the first time since the noble in the blue suit arrived, the prisoner spoke.

"You want ME to kill Sibbi Black-Briar? How on earth could you expect that? You said yourself I'm a coward. I've never even killed a man, not outright at least. And look at me. I'm wasting away in here. I haven't eaten a solid meal in months. I couldn't lift a sword now much less fight and kill a man, not to mention whoever he has guarding him. I want my freedom but you are asking for the impossible."

"We don't necessarily need him dead," Ignatius was quick to respond. "We just need him gone, off the throne. We'd rather have him as a prisoner than a corpse.

Should it come to that, however, you won't be killing him. We have a man for that. Your job is to guide our man to Riften. You'll just be assisting him. You still remember Riften, I assume? You haven't been locked up that long."

Indeed, Canis remembered Riften. He had spent the majority of his life there. Born and raised.

"So," Canis started, "I take your man to Riften, he kills Sibbi, and I get my freedom?"

"We feel that simply removing Sibbi might only cause more unrest. Everyone else will start grasping for the throne and Riften will return to chaos. We need to insert a leader sympathetic to the Empire. We could send in someone to fill that spot, some noble that we appoint, but we feel that a better strategy would be to put someone the people of Riften know. We do not know the whereabouts of Ingun Black-Briar, but have heard no news of her death so she is assumed to be alive, most likely imprisoned by Sibbi. Should this be true, you are to recover her and place her on the throne. If she does turn up dead, we will respond accordingly."

Canis thought it over. "So I guide your man to Riften and find Ingun Black-Briar. Then I get my freedom."

"You will also receive a nominal reward for completion of the mission. You will then be honorably discharged from the legion, and you will be free to live your life any way you see fit so long as you never again interfere with the efforts of the Imperial Legion. You will never be a soldier, you will never have honor, but you will at least get your name back. You can get a house by the beach and watch the sun rise, and have a name on your gravestone. Maybe even flowers. That is the best offer I can make to you."

There was a long silence. Finally, Canis spoke.

"What's to stop me just running off after you set me on this mission?"

Ignatius smiled. "The man you will accompany to Riften is one of our absolute best. The gods do not simply make men like him, he was forged. I have never seen a more ruthless killing machine. He is absolutely loyal to us and will follow any command without question and without hesitation. I have personally seen him rip men limb from limb with the calmest of demeanors. And I mean limb from limb. He will kill men. He will kill women. He will kill children. If we asked him too he would kill his own mother and send us her severed head as proof of the deed. He can track a man for miles and he can shoot a target the size of an apple from distances you wouldn't believe. I've seen it. He is brutal, terrifying, and tenacious and by the Divines if you do should turn tail and desert like you did before we will send him after you and tell him to make you squeal. And believe me when I say he will."

Canis was visibly shaken. "And this man works for the Legion?"

"As I said, he is loyal. He is precise, and he is effective. Not every mission we carry out is as straightforward as putting down a rebellion. Sometimes we have to get our hands dirty. So we send a man with dirty hands. Now, you can either have this man on your side to protect you or on your trail to dismember you. Do not desert again, coward."

Canis was again silent for a spell, and then spoke. "I lead him to Riften, we find Ingun, and he does the rest?"

"Yes."

"And then I'm free? I come back and you all leave me alone?"

"Yes. It is not a difficult job for you, Canis. But it is necessary. So what say you? Will you serve your empire and return to the world of the living? Or will you wither in here until your bones turn to dust?"

The man chained to the wall was given little choice. "When do we start?"

Ignatius's mouth curved into a broad smile. "Soon. Take the week to regain your strength. Get some solid food in your stomach, and consider reacquainting yourself with a sword. Just in case. I will see to it that you are fed and clothed, and might be able to get you some light training before you leave. You'll be given a horse, and by this time next week you'll be on your way to Riften. You'll meet our man at Bruma and head from there together to Riften. Get in, do your job, and return here when the deed is done. You will receive your payment and be on your way. And we will never see each other again, of that I can assure you."

Canis nodded. Still smiling, Ignatius called for the guard. When he arrived, Ignatius instructed the guard to unlock the prisoner's cuffs and escort him to the barracks for a hot meal and a soft bed. The guard grumpily complied.

As the three men walked toward the door leading outside, Canis reflected on the situation. He would be returning home, after all this time. He could see his family. Things could return to normal, like the days before Black Marsh.

As the guard opened the door, Canis could not help but smile. For the first time in two years, the man dressed in rags stepped outside and into the sunlight.


	2. Control

"Get up, you filthy dog! Get up so I can hit you again."

These were the ever-eloquent words of the Imperial Legion drill sergeant Cidius, who now stood over the ragged form of a broken and beaten Canis. He was named "Cidius" because he was such an insidious and nasty drill instructor. This was of course untrue, but Canis chose to believe it anyway. He would have laughed at his funny little joke if not for the dirt now caked on his tongue. He slowly began to drag himself to his feet, only to feel the sharp snap of wood on his back and immediately return to his prone position.

"I told you I would hit you. And until you learn to fight like a man you'll lie in the dirt like a dog."

Today was day three of training, and while Canis rejoiced that he was halfway done, he grieved that three days remained. Three days of waking at dawn to a mile-long swim in the icy waters of Lake Rumare, followed by a five-mile run around the walls of the city, followed by combat training, followed by breakfast. Followed by more training. While Cidius had little problem navigating the same obstacles, the newly-freed man's problems were considerable. Where Cidius was a fitness machine, Canis was only a man. Or as Cidius would have him believe, less than a man. A dog.

At least the food was good. For the first time in two years, Canis was fed food that didn't taste like it was chewed up and spit out, with emphasis on the "spit." Where previously his meals consisted of slop and gruel, Canis now dined on steak, lamb, vegetables, and even wine. It could have been worse.

But of course, with the good food came the wooden sticks. In theory, they were "practice swords," but in practice they were pain sticks, with emphasis on the "pain." And while his left arm held a shield, his left arm was weakened from two years of inactivity, as was his right (aside from the occasional personal entertainment). And Canis was fairly convinced that most of the guards had a general dislike for him, possibly out of jealousy for his devilish good looks but more likely because their favorite punching bag would only be here for another three days, and then they would never see him again. He could go back home to Riften and make the home for himself he had always wanted, and would have had the chance already if not for the Legion.

Why, oh why had he joined the Legion? He had been so young, only nineteen. He would have had years to make his fortune, make a name for himself, find a woman, settle down, and live a good, quiet life in a good, quiet town. It could have been Riften or it could have been anywhere under the sun as long as it had food, mead, and vaginas.

But Canis had received none of these. There were no rich soldiers. He had received little food, and he had received no mead or vaginas. He hardly received any gold, either. He had received a wet jungle and then he had received a cold cell. And now he received a grueling workout and harsh beatings under the guise of "training." Only three days remained but in the meantime Canis remained a slave. Only three days.

"Alright, dog, that's enough for now. Wash off and change. I have a special surprise for you." With that, Cidius chuckled and made his way toward the barracks. The chuckle gave Canis due cause for worry at whatever this "surprise" would be. In any case, he imagined his best bet was still to follow orders and so followed his trainer toward the barracks.

After a short bath, Canis changed into his only non-training outfit: a plain-blue shirt and plain-brown pants, complemented by plain-brown shoes. It was the outfit of a plain man, which he was. He supposed it was, if nothing else, better than plain rags and plain chains.

Upon exiting the barracks, Canis found Cidius standing in the sun, waiting for him. This would be the only time Canis would ever see Cidius outside of his Legion armor and indeed one of the only times anyone else ever would either. "Come on, dog," Cidius shouted. Today, we are not soldiers. Today, we are spectators."

With that, Cidius turned and walked in the direction of the city, leaving Canis little choice but to follow. They walked for some time, crossing through the market district and arriving at the Arena. It was strange for Canis, walking through civilized society again. People walked by and paid him no mind, a stark contrast to the usual insults and beatings thrown his way, both while inside the prison and while out. It was rather pleasant.

"Now, as you know," began the drill sergeant as the pair made their way toward the gate, "this arena was one of the first things rebuilt after the Great War. The Almeri may not like it but we civilized folk love our good old-fashioned bloodbaths. Now, what you don't know is that since you've been in that cell, there's been quite a stir over a new combatant. They call him "Silverblade" after of his silver sword. It's far from creative but it's honest if nothing else, and it strikes fear into the heart of anyone who has the bad luck to face him. He's the current Grand Champion and by Azura If he isn't the best thing to hit the Arena since the Gray Prince! He's killed hundreds of competitors in this arena but there's always some damned fool trying to give him his comeuppance. He's earned it, no doubt, but no one ever has the guts to give it to him, probably because after ten seconds their guts are all over the floor. He's the best, and I want you to watch him. Learn from him. See how he fights, and take notes. And next time we spar, I had better see some of Silverblade come out in your performance. Maybe, just maybe, I can make you into a man, dog."

With that, Cidius paid the man at the gate and the two made their way to their seats. The atmosphere of the crowd was something Canis had not felt for many years. The roar of the crowd was deafening. The smell, both from the red-stained pit and from the men, women, and children around him, was saturated with sweat and blood, but not tears. It reminded him slightly of Black Marsh. Indeed, the crowd was ecstatic, and the noise rose to near-unbearable levels as their champion stepped out of the gate and onto the field.

He was a tall man, a Nord by the looks of it, and built like a stone tower. In his hands he held a silver claymore, his eponymous Silverblade. On his chest he wore an arena raiment magically enchanted to even further enhance his fighting ability. On his head a shaved scalp topped a bruised and scarred face, the physical proof of a life spent in the pit. He was an imposing figure, but the crowd loved him. Canis supposed that his appearance was part of the reason the crowd loved him to begin with.

As he stood just in front of his gateway to the arena, the gate on the other side rose, and in walked Silverblade's competitor. And then another. And then another. Then two more walked in. Canis was surprised, but the crowd was not. It quickly became evident that this event had been heavily advertised, possibly weeks in advance. He would have heard about it, too, had he not been in a cell. The five opponents were all stocky men themselves, and appeared to run the gambit from battle axe-wielding Orc to shortsword-carrying Khajiit. None of the five looked any less imposing than the man they aimed to slaughter. The fact that Silverblade showed no fear at the pack now assembled before him made him that much more terrifying.

The announcer's voice came on the speaker, magnified either by magic or machine; Canis couldn't tell. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! As you all know, today is a very important day! These five gentlemen have challenged your Grand Champion!" At this, the air was filled with "boos" and insults toward the five. "But, this is no ordinary combatant: this is your master of melee; your king of killing; your brutalizer of bodies; your destroyer of dreams, hopes, and men! Ladies and gentleman of the Imperial City, I am proud to present your Grand Champion: Silverblade!" Before the man could even complete his sentence the crowd was alive and rollicking. There was chanting, shouting, screaming, raving. The only discernible word was the Grand Champion's name. "Good people of the Imperial City: Let the battle BEGIN!"

And so the battle began. Silverblade's grip noticeably tightened on his claymore but he was otherwise motionless. By contrast, his five opponents rushed toward their singular enemy, weapons drawn and posed to strike. Then, in a moment, Silverblade was upon his attacker. His blade swept through the Orc's neck, splattering blood all over himself and the remaining four. From that point onward, no one in the audience could tell whose blood belonged to whom, except that none of it belonged to Silverblade. The Khajiit had his intestines splash on the ground in neat little pile. The Imperial had his legs reduced to stumps, leaving him to lie screaming on the ground as the crowd thundered. The Dunmer was cut in two horizontally; the Bosmer, vertically. Canis had never seen such carnage at the hands of a single man and his was the only voice not screaming in ecstasy. The noise only marginally subsided as the announcer's voice returned.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen! Your Grand Champion has triumphed once again! Is there no challenge too great, no opponent too swift, no force too powerful for our Grand Champion? Perhaps one day we will find out, but that day is not today! Esteemed Grand Champion, make your way back to the Bloodworks for your pay!"

As Silverblade made his way back to the gate, the applause swelling, he put his sword through the back of the poor Imperial, killing him in one swift motion. Putting him out of his misery, or maybe just putting a stop to the screaming. With that, Silverblade walked through the gateway and disappeared from sight. With his departure, many in the crowd began to make their way toward the exits. Though there were to be more fights that day, the audience had seen what it had come to see. Cidius rose to leave as well, so Canis rose to join him.

As they made their way back to the barracks on the prison island, Canis was silent, contemplating what he had just seen. Cidius broke the silence.

"He's quite the spectacle, Silverblade. But we didn't go for entertainment, we went to learn. So, what did you learn?"

For several moments, Canis was silent. What had he learned? He had completely forgotten the supposed goal of their little fieldtrip. To be honest, he had failed to notice any particular tactic that Silverblade had employed. It was all a crimson blur.

"I don't know what I learned."

This appeared to anger Cidius. "You stupid dog! I take you to the arena to see possibly the greatest arena champion who's ever lived, and you don't even watch! I ought to strangle you! Look here. What did you see, when you watched him fight? Describe what Silverback looked like when he sliced off those legs."

Canis hesitated. "He… He was big? He was strong… He had a big sword…"

At this, Cidius smacked him on the back of the head. "You idiot! None of that matters! You think being big makes you a good fighter? You think being strong makes you a good fighter? By the Divines, you think having a BIG SWORD makes a damn difference how you fare in combat? No! No. Wrong. None of that matters. You know what matters, dog?" Canis was silent; he knew anything he said would only result in further insult. "Silverblade's hands never shook, dog. Sure he yelled a bit, but do you think that at any time in that fight the Grand Champion was in any other position but total control? Wrong. Even cornered by five men, Silverblade kept his cool. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't scared. He really wasn't angry. He was calm. He was in control. Yes he was strong, but how did he get so strong? It was through dedication, tenacity, but mostly control. That's what you need to learn, dog. You need to learn that when you fight, if you can't raise a sword because you're too busy trembling behind your shield, you will die. If you rush in and flail like a madman like that idiot Orc did, you will die. If you get angry and pick a fight with someone who outmatches you, you will die. All your life you've only known running, and I know this because that's why you ended up in that cell in the first place. If you ever want to stop running and actually live your life, you have to get control. You have to hold your sword firmly: if your grip is too loose, you'll drop your sword; if it's too tight, you lose some of your flexibility. Balance is the key. Balance and control. Remember that."

By this time, they were near the barracks. The sun was beginning its descent.

"There's something else we should talk about. Silverblade is one of the toughest men that has even graced this earth, and I have never seen a man stronger, bigger, or more fearsome. That being said, I have no doubt in my mind that the man you will be accompanying to Riften could kill a man like Silverblade without batting an eye." Canis, shocked, now looked directly at Cidius, who stared, straight-faced, back.

"That's not a joke. His name is Adrian de Loup. He is a Breton. He was born here and joined the Legion when he was still a boy, cooking and cleaning. But soon he established himself as a ferocious fighter and determined soldier. Before long, they had him going on solo missions. They could send him in to kill a single chieftain or slaughter an entire village; it didn't matter. He would perform flawlessly, and he would come back without a scratch. You'll meet him soon. Just remember that without control, you will die. Adrian de Loup is the embodiment of control. Remember that."

Cidius said no more. They reached the barracks and departed; Cidius strode toward his room while Canis headed toward the kitchen. After the carnage he had just seen, he was surprised that he had such an appetite. But then again, he hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was now late afternoon. As he sat down at a table, he noticed a group of legionnaires sitting together at an adjacent table. Evidently they noticed him as well. He could just make out one of them say "watch this" before walking toward his table. The legionnaire sat down and greeted Canis with a wide grin.

"Hey buddy," he advanced. "So I hear Cidius took you to the Arena today to see Silverblade?"

"That's right."

"Well, what did you think?"

"He was good." Canis wasn't thrilled to be in this situation.

"More than good, I hear. But not as good as Loup." Canis was silent. "Come on buddy, I know Cidius told you about Loup. Single man who can take down armies? Kills women and children for fun? Strangles people with their own intestines? Oh yeah, that's not a rumor. He really did that." Canis did not acknowledge the man, merely looking down at his meal. "Come on, look at me! I'm trying to help you here. You're the one who has a mission with him. We all pity you, we really do. There's a reason they only send him on solo missions now. You know why, dog? It's because our boy Loup has a short temper. You think Cidius gets angry? That's a funny joke. I wish we could show you what's left of the last partner who screwed up a mission for Loup. I say I "wish" because there is nothing left. You mess up out there, and your family won't be getting a coffin. If you're lucky, they'll get some blood in a bottle.

"Now, no one knows how he does the things he does. Crassius thinks he's part Khajiit and that's how he can track people so well. Lucan thinks he's half-Orc and that's why he's such a ferocious killer. Personally, I think he's a vampire, which kind of answers both. The others say that's wrong because we've seen him in the day, but I say he just told the sun to mind its own business!" At that, the legionnaire and his buddies all chuckled. Canis was silent, still looking down and making his best attempt to enjoy his lamb.

"Well, in the end it doesn't really matter. The point of the story is: you try to run and you're dead. You mess this up for him and you're dead. And believe me when I tell you that no harm will come to him. The legion needs him too much. Last time he killed a partner they didn't even give him a slap on the wrists. You know why? Because he did what no one else could, what we needed done. He killed a small-army of skooma-trafficking lowlifes, and he got their whole shipment."

One of the men from the other table called over, "Tell him the story!" The others cheered him on. The legionnaire sharing the bench with Canis gave his friends a wide smile, and did just that.

"Alright, settle down. I'm telling him, I'm telling him. So, the Legion sends our friend Loup to Black Marsh to find these skooma traffickers, kill them, and retrieve their whole shipment. Now, the reasoning for this mission is twofold: for one, that's one less group of skooma-dealing bastards for us to deal with. For two, we send a message to the rest of the dealers out there that we will find them and we will kill them. Anyway, so they send Loup with some Argonian guide who apparently knows the area. So they get there fine, and find the dealers, who happen to be a bunch of wood elves. Now, what are a bunch of wood elves doing in Black Marsh? No one knows. But anyway, so the Argonian helps Loup find their camp and then Loup just eviscerates them all. He chops off arms, stabs groins, chokes-them-with-their-own-intestines. See, he doesn't just kill the guys, he really makes them suffer. You get the idea. And the dealer's kids are there and everything but Loup doesn't care, he pulls out their eyeballs right in front of the kids. Well, anyway, so they kill the whole group but, uh-oh, no skooma. They scan the whole camp and there's none to be found. Well, then it dawns on the Argonian: the skooma is inside the kids. They put moon sugar or skooma in these magically-sealed bags, make the kids swallow it, and then run them over the border. Then, the kids, well, you know… And then they take the skooma out and deliver it to dealers in Cyrodiil and Morrowind, and the Legion is none the wiser. Apparently it's a common thing with Bosmer. Well, the Argonian starts saying how they have to drag all the kids back to the Imperial City so they can be processed. Loup disagrees, saying that taking care of that many kids would make the trip take forever, and give many of them the chance to escape. Loup says he's not taking care of kids, and that he's getting what he came here for. Now, it shouldn't make any sense, because Argonians are spineless creatures, and Black Marsh Argonians are even worse: they hate anyone who isn't an Argonian. But, for whatever reason, this Argonian decides to grow a conscience. He says he can't kill kids and that they're going to have to either escort the kids as best they can or let the skooma shipment go. Loup disagrees. See, Loup accomplishes every objective, every time. So, Loup cuts that Argonian in half, right in front of the kids. And then, a few days later, Loup gets back here with dozens of bags of skooma, but no kids. Get it?" Canis got it.

"And what happens when he gets back? Nothing. He gets paid. Handsomely. Then they send him off on another mission like nothing. No prison sentence. Not even a fine. You know why? Because he is too good. We can't lose him. He's the one who's not afraid to get his hands dirty, bloody, and filthy. So you keep that in mind when you're up there in Riften. You had best stay out of his way. Because he won't go around you, he'll just go through you. You think about that, dog. I'll see you later; I have some errands to run."

With that, the legionnaire and his friends left the dining hall laughing, and Canis found that he had again lost his appetite. With emphasis on the "lost."

Hope you are all enjoying this so far. Reviews welcome, criticism appreciated!


End file.
